Backseat Driver
by Carole C
Summary: Dean and Sam are gifted with a useful little piece of modern technology. Better watch out when a gift is regifted, guys. A small case fic that's purely for fun. No spoilers, no particular season. Many thanks to my son for this story idea! It's always great to have a partner in crime, and a good navigator on a road trip.


**Backseat Driver**

**_THEN:_**

"May I see that one, please?"

The sales clerk smiled at the elegantly dressed woman pointing into the glass case between them. "Certainly, ma'am."

He lifted out the GPS unit and handed it to her. She examined it closely, but her attention was really on him. The instant he was distracted by another customer, she flipped the unit over.

Bringing it close to her face, she pursed her lips and blew into the USB port. Her breath flowed out into the port, a visible pale blue mist that seemed to glow from some inner incandescence.

She turned the unit face up and tapped the power button. The screen lit up and a block of text began to scroll upwards.

_BackseatDriver update, v1.1a_

_Patch notes:_

_-Fixed glitch with displaying incorrect models of cars._

_-Added updated road maps downloaded from Google Streets._

_-Added new synthesized voice pack, Gladys. Go to Options - Audio - Voice - Change Voice to switch to it._

The woman tapped the screen a few times, the GPS obediently beeping to confirm each choice. The clerk came back to her just as she turned it off.

"What do you think of it?" he asked.

"It's very nice, but I've heard rumors that the price will drop in February. I'll wait to see if these go on sale." She handed the unit back. "Thank you, though."

"You're welcome," he answered. "I'll see you then."

"Perhaps on Valentine's Day," she smiled and gave him a wink before she strolled away and was lost in the holiday shopping crowd.

The clerk watched her, rapt, sticking the GPS back into the showcase through pure muscle memory alone.

The next customer stepped up to the counter. "Do you have any Backseat Driver 3.5s left?"

"You're in luck." The clerk handed the man the unit he'd just replaced in the case. It was still oddly warm from the woman's hands.

"Great, great." After a cursory examination, the customer handed it back. "Can you wrap it and ship it for me to arrive by Christmas?"

"Of course, if it's an address within the lower forty-eight, but I'm afraid it'll cost a bit more because we'll have to send it expedited." The clerk took the unit and reached under the counter to retrieve its box.

"That's ok, whatever it takes. It's the last item on my list." The customer gave the clerk a frazzled grin. "Whew, what a relief."

"I won't have any of that till after New Year's," the clerk answered with a sigh. "Ok, where do you want to send this?"

**_NOW:_**

"Sorry about the smoke, and the breakage," Dean said to the anxious elderly woman in front of them.

"And the water damage," Sam added. "But you won't have any more trouble, we took care of your pixie problem permanently.

"Oh, thank heaven!" Her worried expression cleared to a sunny smile that could make her a stand-in for Mrs. Claus. "Believe you me, it's worth a few broken mirrors to be shed of _them._"

She glanced out the patio door at the charred skeleton of what was once a fully decorated Douglas fir. "Regardless, this will be my _last_ real Christmas tree."

"I don't blame you." Sam smiled. "They're a bad idea for a lot of reasons."

"Way too flammable, for one," Dean chimed in. "We'll help you clean up here, then we'll get out of your way too."

"Oh, won't you stay the night? It's getting so late. Tomorrow my daughter and her husband will be here early for Christmas Eve. We can all enjoy a wonderful early Christmas dinner together."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean and they simultaneously shook their heads. Appealing as it was to Sam, and he suspected for Dean too, they had planned all month to be with Bobby over the holidays. "I'm sorry, we appreciate the invitation but we've got family in South Dakota who's expecting us."

"Well, not expecting us, but he'd probably be disappointed if we didn't show up on his doorstep," Dean added, with a grin.

"Oh! Well then, I certainly understand," she said with a nod. "Don't let me keep you then, the weather forecast up that way is terrible!"

"We can stay long enough to help you get cleaned up here," Dean insisted.

"No, no—there's no need." Her smile turned teasing. "I raised five rowdy boys and a tomboy girl who tried to outdo them in everything possible. This isn't the first time I've had to clean up a little glass and soot."

-o0o-

An hour later, they were headed out her door, heavily laden with care packages of Christmas sweets and half a pecan pie.

"Wait! Wait! I almost forgot!" she called from the front door and hurried down the walk, a box in her hand. "A little gift."

"Ma'am, thank you, but trust me, this is amazing right here." Dean saluted her carefully with the precious pie.

"This will last longer." She chuckled and tucked the box on top of the one Sam carried, patting it against his chest. "It's one of those direction thingies, for the car when you're on a trip. My son Patrick gave it to me, last year. I don't know why. I haven't been past the city limits in at least three years."

Sam opened his mouth and she went on tiptoe to tap his lips with a motherly fingertip. "Now before you start, you hush. You told me you two travel all over the country. This will do you far more good than it will me. Take, take it—make an old woman happy."

"Thank you, then, and merry Christmas," Sam replied.

"Yeah, merry Christmas, and thanks for everything."

"You too. Have a wonderful Christmas and a safe trip, boys! Stop by any time!"

She waved them away until they turned at the end of the block.

"Why can't all our hunts end like this?" Dean asked as he worked a cookie out from under festive plastic wrap.

"Because every hunt's not on Christmas weekend?" Sam popped a homemade truffle into his mouth, holding it in his cheek to melt as he unboxed the GPS unit and plugged it into the cigarette lighter.

Dean glanced over at the box. "Backseat Driver, huh? Yeah, that's what we've always needed. A silicon nag."

"Could be useful." Sam's voice came out muffled and thick through the melting chocolate. "It'll save money on maps, and we'll have more room in the glove box."

"Yeah, well, I'm betting when we really need directions, that thing won't have a clue."

_"Try me,"_ retorted a female voice.

"What the?" Dean frowned at the device.

Sam grabbed for it, just as startled, then chuckled. "It's on demo mode."

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

"Oh hey, look—it has an Impala icon."

Dean stole a glance at the screen Sam held towards him. "It's red."

"Still, it's pretty cool."

A couple of beeps later, the machine's calm, lush voice intoned, _"Hello, I'm Gladys, your Backseat Driver. Where would you like to go today?"_

Sam typed in Sioux Falls, South Dakota and set Gladys on the dash between them.

Dean argued with her turn by turn all the way to Bobby's driveway.

-o0o-

Two weeks later, they were in the deserted heart of the middle of nowhere and low on fuel of both the petroleum and human varieties.

"Best guess on the next gas station?" Dean asked, glancing over at Sam.

Sam yawned and stretched. "I think Gladys has a feature that finds gas, restaurants and motels."

"Yeah, you do that. Ask Aunt Gladys. I'm sure she'll find us five-star cuisine."

Sam chuffed and turned the unit on.

"Does it _have_ to give that ear-shredding beep every time you tap something?"

"Hmm.. no… I think I can shut that off in options."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._ Blessed silence.

"Thank you," Dean said.

_"You're welcome,"_ Gladys announced.

"Ok, that's just creepy."

"Look, who ever programmed it is a courtesy freak or something." Sam shrugged. "Instead of 'enter' it's 'thank you,' and then she says 'you're welcome.'"

"So that makes it weird and creepy. Does she find anything at all out here or are we going to wind up as two bleached skeletons stranded on the side of this godforsaken goat-track?"

Sam turned the little screen towards him with a grin as Gladys announced, _"In fifteen point two miles, turn right, onto Copperhead Road. Your destination, the Tullamore Dew, will be on your right. Gas, food and lodging available. Of special note: homemade pies and fresh salad bar daily."_

"All right, Gladys!" Dean grinned. "Now you're talkin'."

_"You're welcome."_

Sam chuffed and set her back on the dash.

-o0o-

_"Attention! The speed limit is fifty-five. Attention! You are exceeding the speed limit."_

"I know. I can read a damn speedometer."

_"Attention! The speed limit is fifty-five miles per hour. Attention! You are exceeding the speed limit."_

"Shut up," Dean snapped at the machine.

_"Attention! The speed limit is fifty-five miles per hour. Attention! You are exceeding the speed limit."_

"One more time, Gladys," he warned. "You nag me one more time, I'm yanking your battery."

"You're threatening a computer chip," Sam grumbled, his voice muffled from where he had his face pillowed against his wadded jacket.

_"Attention! The speed limit is fifty-five miles per hour. Attention! You are exceeding the speed limit."_

Dean snatched her off the dash and tossed her in the general direction of Sam's lap. The unit gave a shrill, electronic shriek.

"What the heck was that about?"

"Dunno," Sam answered as he fished her up from where she'd slipped onto the floorboard between his feet. "You must have pressed two buttons at once or something."

He switched her off and tucked her into the glove compartment.

When blue lights flashed in their rearview a few moments later, both brothers were too focused on the approaching cop to hear a tiny, muttered, _"I told you to slow down,"_ from inside the dash.

-o0o-

_"Attention! Extreme caution required. In .2 miles, stop for tiger crossing."_

"Uh, am I dreaming?" Dean sat up and blinked. "Or did she just say tiger crossing?"

"It's got to be that cheap Chinese battery messing with her circuits," Sam answered.

Dean picked up the unit, turned on the screen's backlight. "Whatever it is, we heard her right. In .1 miles, tiger crossing." He shook the unit slightly. "You do realize we're in Indiana, not India, right Gladys?"

_"Caution, tiger crossing,"_ she informed him.

Sam braked hard, so hard that Dean's shoulder rebounded off the dash and the tires smoked the pavement.

Dean didn't notice. It's normal to ignore the effects of inertia when the headlights are picking out a massive Bengal tiger strolling majestically across the road in front of one's car less than twenty feet ahead of the grille.

_"Tune to 1610 AM on your radio for important emergency information from the Highway Patrol."_ Gladys commented.

Sam reached and tuned the radio to 1610, eyes still on the tiger who'd decided to sit down on the center line and groom himself. After a moment of static, a crackly report came through. A circus truck had overturned, releasing lions and tigers and bears.

Oh my.

_"You're welcome,"_ Gladys said. Dean could swear she sounded smug.

The tiger looked up, hind leg still in the air like an uninhibited tom cat. His gold-green eyes fixed on Sam's through the windshield.

"Uh, I think this is a good time for a U-turn." Sam put the car into reverse.

"If ever there was one," Dean agreed.

Gladys piped up. _"Recalculating."_

-o0o-

_"Please cease arguing. Distracted driving is extremely dangerous."_

The argument stopped all right, because both of them were staring at the GPS with slack mouths.

_"Thank you,"_ she said.

Dean swung the car off the road onto the hard shoulder in a squall of dust and gravel.

Sam yanked Gladys' power cord out of the dash. He flipped her over and grabbed a coin out of the ashtray to open the battery compartment.

_"No user serviceable parts inside,"_ Gladys said. _"No user serviceable parts inside. Stop. Please. Stop."_

"Sam, that is not programming or cheap batteries or some damn circuit glitch." Dean grabbed the unit and cocked his arm towards the open window.

_"STOP! Sudden shocks will damage this unit!"_ Gladys bellowed at full volume. There was no mistaking the desperate plea in her electronic voice. _"Please! Stop!"_

Dean lowered his arm. Weird to feel compassion for a bunch of wires and plastic.

"Possession?" Sam reached for her.

"One way to find out."

They both got out. Dean drew a devil's trap on the asphalt and Sam set Gladys in the center of it. He stepped back.

"You want to do the honors? She's your GPS." Dean gestured towards the machine.

"You talk to her the most."

Dean groaned, then cleared his throat. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica..."

When he got to benedictus Deus, gloria Patri, a shimmering pale blue luminous cloud seeped out from under Gladys. It rose and grew within the trap, taking on a distinctly female profile. A distinctly Kardashian-esque female profile. It solidified, dimmed, and the eerie luminosity became nothing more glowing than pale human flesh.

"Ohhhh this is such a _relief!"_ Gladys arched her back and stretched, as uninhibited as the tiger.

Dean and Sam stared in almost as much stunned wonder.

"Thank you," she said with a smile, and that familiar pleasantry sent goosebumps sheeting over Dean's skin. "I thought I was never going to get out of that thing!"

She crouched and picked up the GPS. "I can't believe I fit into it."

Dean gave a soft cough. "Honestly? Neither can I."

"How did you get in?" Sam asked.

Reasonable question.

She huffed and rocked a chiding finger at them as she strolled out of the devil's trap. "Never, ever piss off a powerful witch on a road trip, fellas. Trust me on this one. Now, which one of you is going to offer me your coat? It's a liiiittle nippy out here tonight."

She got a face full of holy water instead. Gladys stood there, water dripping off her chin, blinking at them in aghast shock. "What the _hell _was that for?"

"Hell," Dean answered, and shrugged off his coat.

Gladys put it on, then wiped her face on the sleeve.

"We'll explain in the car," Sam added. "Where are you from?"

"Seattle."

"Lucky you, we're headed that way." Dean pulled back out onto the road.

A few seconds later, Gladys leaned forward in her blanket and propped her folded arms on the backrest between them. "Y'know, if you hop on I-130 about fifteen miles from here, it'll cut a lot of time off the trip. Oh, and did you see that 'left lane ending' sign just now? And you're doing 75 in a 65, by the way."

"Not so lucky us," Dean grumbled to Sam over Gladys' damp head. "Now we can't stuff her into the glove box to shut her up.

"Maybe we can reverse the spell." Sam lifted the currently non-sentient GPS and rocked it in front of Gladys' nose.

"Geez, you try to be helpful and this is the thanks you get," she sniffed as she subsided into the back seat.

"You're welcome," Sam and Dean chanted in calm, monotone stereo.


End file.
